Moloch: Echoes
by mamfa
Summary: Fourth in the Moloch series, following 'Reactions'. Growing up is never easy. And to put away the shadows on his soul, fifteen-year-old Toby must accept his own heritage and identity. And who better to teach him than the mistress of the lost identity hers


This is the third installment in the "Moloch" series. It follows straight after "Education."  
The title, 'Moloch,' come from early Israelite canon. Moloch was a brass god with a furnace for a belly, in which   
children were sacrificed. Yes, pertinent and deep, folks!  
They're Marvel's. Didn't you know? (Snarf!) Use Toby without permission, and I'll sic the figments of my   
imagination upon you. (Advice: Be afraid.)  
Feedback is a beautiful, beautiful thing. As for flames – be careful, I might just answer them.   
Archive wiv permission.   
Yes, wiv. You'd think you'd be used to my idiocy by now.  
(Holy ffic writer in a huff, Batman!)  
  
Moloch: Echoes  
Mamfa  
  
Summer was over.  
"Aw hell!" complained Toby as he tried to button his school shirt. "Not again!"  
"What was that, my young friend?" called Hank from the next room.  
"I've outgrown my uniform again!" said Toby in disgust, throwing the offending shirt to the floor. "Honestly, if I'd   
known that all those extra hours of training would just end up costing more money…"  
Hank chuckled. "Well, I don't know if it's just the training, Toby. You are growing at an alarming rate."  
Toby pulled on another shirt as he walked out of his room. "Yeah, well, I eat enough. Speaking of which…"  
Hank laughed, pulling his door shut. "School does not begin for another four days, however. You'll have plenty of   
time…"  
"..to get a new uniform," said Toby in unison with Hank as they walked together towards the kitchen. "I've got half a   
mind to write to Reed Richards and ask him about unstable molecules, if I keep going through clothes like this."  
"Don't worry. We can always send them to the Massachusetts Academy. I understand Miss St. Croix will be more   
than pleased with anything of yours." Hank grinned as the young mutant blushed.  
"Heh, don't remind me. Besides, I don't think Gabby would be real pleased," said Toby gloomily. "Getting sliced to   
ribbons isn't so much fun, you know."  
"Actually, I do. Which reminds me, I've had a few talks with Charles concerning you," said Hank as they entered the   
kitchen. Cable was hovering sourly over a cup of coffee, and scowled in greeting. "Morning, Nathan."  
"Hi, Cable. What did you speak to the professor about, Hank?" Toby tried to conceal how apprehensive that   
particular statement made him, moving casually towards the fridge. When people had serious discussions concerning   
him, it was never good news.  
"Well, seeing as you can hold your own in practically any fight, I was considering you as a part of the X-Men," said   
Hank mildly, as if it was no moment. Toby choked on the milk he was drinking from the carton.  
"Breathe, Toby," said Cable crossly. "You're as red as a radish with sunburn."  
"Me, part of the X-Men?" Toby blurted. "Hank, I'm not even sixteen!"  
"And you're six feet tall, can beat Logan in a fight one out of four, and are in full control of your powers," pointed   
out Hank.   
"What did the professor say?" asked Toby, still a little stunned.  
"He seemed amenable to the concept, though he expressed some desire for you to continue with your schooling,"   
Hank replied, rummaging through a cupboard. "And I believe I will have to consider decapitating one Robert Drake   
for eating the last Twinkie."  
"But how can I continue school if I'm gallivanting off with you guys?" said Toby, nonplussed.  
"You'll probably end up doing what Jubilee did," said Cable brusquely. "Part time superhero."  
Toby considered that concept. While enormous amounts of fun, bashing heads and kicking righteous ass would be a   
massive intrusion on his already strained free time. However, like any adolescent, Toby had a burning desire to prove   
himself more than sufficient to the tasks people expected of him. But in his case, what people expected was a million   
different things, and in order to keep each facet separate, he felt he had become a different person for each.  
"I take it you are a little bemused?" asked Hank with a solicitous grin as he perched on a chair, a mug in one hand   
and a chocolate bar in the other.  
"Just a tad," Toby replied, replacing his milk and grabbing a chicken leg. He flopped down opposite Hank. "That   
was a little sudden."  
"Well, there isn't really a delicate way to slip it into a conversation," said Hank, shrugging. "Would you consider the   
notion?"  
"Absolutely," said Toby in a slightly awed voice. Cable chuckled.  
"It soon loses its appeal, kid. Believe me."  
"What, saving the world every two months?" asked Toby wryly. "I'll think about it, Hank. But first, I'd better get a   
new school uniform."  
"Again?" said Cable. "That's the seventh since last year!"  
"I think it may do you good to be shorter than someone for a change, Nathan," said Hank slyly. "Then you can enjoy   
that remarkable crick in the neck we acquire when we try to hold a conversation with you."  
"Ah, flonq you, hairball."  
  
  
Fucking hell!  
I never thought I'd be a part of the team. I never thought they'd trust me that far, considering who my pa is and all.   
But I know Hank, and he wouldn't fuck around with my feelings like that. He's one of my best friends here, almost   
like the uncle I never had. He wouldn't have said that unless he really had talked to the professor, unless he really   
had considered it.  
Fucking hell.  
I'll bet it was Hank's idea too. He's usually my sparring partner, and only Logan has a better idea of how well I can   
fight. And that's only because he's training me. Oh shit, I don't know how Logan's going to take this. Or Betsy. Or   
Gambit. Or… Jesus, is there anyone in the damn mansion who entirely trusts me despite who my father was? I   
swear, I'm going to gut that bastard like a fish for all he's put me through.  
But of course, it isn't entirely his fault… much as I hate to absolve him…  
Ever since I came here, I've had the threat of what I may one day become hanging over my head. The fact that I look   
so much like my father, ever since I started growing, really, really, really doesn't help. I've seen pictures. The only   
difference seems to be that my eyes are blue, and his are yellow. Oh, and he's got about four times the amount of   
hair. Last year the Group decided to try and beat me up after school, to try and prove something or other. I lost it. I   
went berserk for the first time in an uncontrolled situation. I could have killed all of them, except Gabby pulled me   
back somehow. And of course, it only exacerbated the situation at home – more and more like his father every day! A   
schoolyard full of innocent kids!   
Jesus, jesus fuck.  
Oh, they're nice enough. But there's very few people in the X-Men who trust me, and I mean trust me as a friend, or   
as a kid they've watched grow up. I suppose I was more lovable as a child, because right now, after hearing reports   
on the activities of the followers of my misguided deceased half-brother Graydon, the emotional climate is chilly,   
and it's harder to be sympathetic when the person in question is six feet tall. I'm no longer Toby Creed, resident X-  
teen, I'm the recipient of a dangerous mutation and the son of an infamous mass-murderer. Just because I now look   
like him, and fight like him, and go berserk… damn!  
It doesn't really count that I'm good at sport and English and chemistry. Or that I love to act. Logan keeps his   
thoughts to himself, as usual, but I can smell the distrust on him. Betsy is polite, though she has to force herself to   
make the effort. Jubilee won't meet my eyes every time a new FoH report comes in. And Remy is just shy of being   
openly hostile. Better than Bishop at least, who regards me as a serious threat (Me?) and possibly the mutant   
equivalent of a Judas goat. Stuff that, I'm no-one's stalking horse! They've known me for almost three years now,   
and this hostility still hasn't worn down?  
Actually, I think it has, but only in some people. Mister Scott is as disapproving as ever, but I can tell that most of his   
'I fearless leader, you non-Summers' attitude towards me is starting to crack a little. Hank and Bobby are as genial as   
ever. Cable, despite being a sour pain in the arse, can be a lot of fun, especially during training. He once told me that   
he respected what I put up with. And Storm and Rogue are as understanding as they've always been. Still, I think the   
only person who trusts me implicitly, no questions asked, is Gabrielle.  
Hell, I don't even trust myself. But I couldn't bear to ever see that look in her eyes.  
  
  
After visiting the tailor and collecting his new uniform, Toby met his best friend Tom Sheppard in the park. Tom   
was a skinny, scrawny redheaded lad with a face that seemed all freckle, and a body that seemed all hinges. He was a   
stark contrast to Toby, who towered almost a foot above him now, and had bulked out considerably thanks to his   
mutation and Wolverine's intensive training. As he approached, Tom grinned like an idiot, waving something above   
his head.  
"Greetings, my most excellent friend," said Toby in his most pompous tones. "What you got there?"  
"Letter from Susie. How you been? I haven't talked to you in almost four weeks!" Tom slapped Toby hard on the   
back. "Jesus, did you grow again?"  
"Yeah," Toby grimaced. "As if it isn't bad enough being the oldest in the year AND the only mutant, now I've got to   
be a bigger target. Someone up there has it in for me."  
"Aw, diddums," teased Tom. "Well, what did you expect with the amount you eat?"  
Toby shrugged. "Dunno. I sure wasn't expecting to need a new uniform." He indicated the bag over his shoulder.  
"Again?"  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. What did Suz say?" Toby flopped onto the grass and pushed his thick blond hair out of his eyes.   
"Damn, I wish I could get a haircut!"  
"Why – oh, healing factor. Well, tie it back," suggested Tom, opening the envelope. "Here we go… 'Dear Tom. I'm   
having a great time here in London, and I wish you could see it. The buildings here are beautiful, and I know how   
you want to be an architect'…"  
Toby interrupted. "You want to be an architect now?"  
Tom grinned. "That, a graphic designer, a nuclear scientist, a gigolo, or the dictator of a small planet."  
"Stick with graphic designer or architect. The others might take some doing."  
"Well, didn't Gabby want to be a mutant when she grows up?" teased Tom, and Toby sniffed.   
"The job hazards might be a little more than she's used to. Keep going, I want to hear from Suz."  
"All right, keep your hair on… 'I went to the Tower of London yesterday, and I think you would have loved it.   
History's your thing at school, so you probably would have been able to keep all those Edwards and Henrys straight   
for me. It was suitably grisly, too – here's a few pictures of me at the Tower and outside Traitor's Gate. We're   
staying in Earl's Court not far from the centre of the city. I've been such a stereotyped 'American tourist' – I bet   
Andy would be cringing. I really miss you guys'…"  
"Aw that's nice," murmured Toby.  
"Would you shut up for a second? Okay… '… and I'll be so glad to be home. I get back the day before school starts.   
I'm going to be so jetlagged! I've made a few friends here, but it's not quite the same. For a start, they all have those   
classy accents. Oh, and one of them was actually a gamma class mutant, who nearly passed out in jealousy when I   
described Toby to her. I saw Windsor Castle and Westminster Abbey over the weekend, and boy were they   
beautiful! You wouldn't believe some of the paintings hanging up – and you know heaps about art. I'll tell you all   
about it when I get home.  
"'love Susie. PS. Say hi to the others for me, and tell Gabby I got what she was after!'"  
"Give us a look at those photos," said Toby after a short silence following the letter. "I've never been overseas…"  
"I've been to Sydney, Australia," said Tom distractedly as he fought to get the photos out of the envelope. "Went for   
the Olympic games."  
"That must have been fun," said Toby, thinking of the only Australian he knew – the bluff sports master, McIntyre.  
"Oh hell yes. Australians kick ass. Especially the chicks." Then he added in a hushed tone. "But don't tell Suz that."  
Toby laughed. Tom and Susie were somewhere between just friends and boyfriend and girlfriend. It was the classic   
example of opposites attract – Susie was pretty and diligent and quiet, whilst Tom was an cheeky extrovert,   
proverbially lazy, and to put it bluntly, no prize. He took the photos carefully, grinning at the image of the petite girl   
with short white-blond hair and grey-blue eyes. "She looks like she's having a good time."  
Tom sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "I miss her."  
"Sap."  
"Well, are you any better when it comes to Gabby?" retorted Tom, his grass-green eyes narrowed defensively.  
"Hell no. But at least I can stop myself mooning in public over her," said Toby slyly. Tom hit him across the   
shoulder. "Hey!"  
"Then don't diss me like that." Tom settled himself down on his elbows, and squinted up at his large friend. "Is   
something on your mind, Toberoonie?"  
Toby sighed. "Kind of. I suppose I'd better tell you if this goes through…"  
"What goes through?"  
"Well…" Toby squirmed a little at the enormity of the secret he was about to reveal. "You know how I told you that   
my house is a refuge for mutants?"  
"Yeah?"  
"It's actually the base of the X-Men."  
Tom's eyes widened to an impossible extent, and he started making choking noises. "…"  
"I know." Toby scratched his head ruefully. "You're probably wondering why they took me in, considering."  
"The X-Men?" blurted Tom finally, his tone incredulous. "But… you're Sabretooth's son!"  
"Thanks for reminding me," said Toby bitterly.   
"Sorry… but, Jesus fuck!"  
"Yeah. Imagine how I felt," Toby raised a cynical eyebrow. "And still feel. Half of them aren't entirely sure they can   
still trust me, especially since last year when I started to grow so fast."  
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…." breathed Tom. "Why didn't you tell us this before?"  
"Because it's a huge secret. And because last night, Hank told me that they're considering me for a part-time position   
on the team."  
"Holy shit!"  
"Could you keep you voice down?"  
"You're gonna be part of the X-Men?" Tom's eyes were now a little wild. Toby wondered if he should have dropped   
this information a little more gently.  
"Possibly. I don't know yet. Hank only broached the subject last night."  
"Hank?" Tom swallowed nervously. "Who's he when he's in spandex?"  
Toby laughed. "I'll give you a clue – blue fur and Nobel Prizes."  
"Holy mmmph!!!"  
"I'll remove my hand when you can be a little quieter," said Toby urgently. "This isn't the type of thing we can   
gossip about, 'kay?"  
"Mmph."  
"So I can take my hand away now?"  
"Mmmph mmph."  
"Okay then."  
"Holy shit, Toby! This Hank is Beast?!" Tom scrambled away before Toby could muzzle him again. "The scientist?   
The one who was on the cover of TIME?"  
"Yeah," said Toby, now a little amused. "He hated that photo. Said it didn't remotely look like him. With longer   
words of course."  
Tom's voice now dropped to an awed whisper. "So you actually live with Beast and Storm and Cyclops and   
Wolverine and Iceman and…"  
"… Jubilee, Psylocke, Archangel, Gambit, Rogue and assorted other mutants," finished Toby. "Yep."  
"What are they like?" Tom's whisper was incredibly curious. Considering Tom's natural inquisitiveness, Toby began   
to doubt whether telling him this secret had been such a good idea.  
"Well, Cyke's a nice enough guy, but he's incredibly anal-retentive. I suppose having a family like his does that to   
you," mused Toby. "Great leader though. He irritates the hell out of Cable and Logan."  
"Logan?"  
"Wolverine. It's not a good idea to get him irritated."  
"Holy Mary, mother of a delusional fuckwit," breathed Tom.  
"Logan's been training me for the past two years and a half. I can actually beat him now, if he's in a good mood,"   
added Toby. "If he's in a shitty mood, I get the crap beaten outta me. Otherwise, he's a lot of fun, especially when   
Cable hasn't had a coffee. Then you sit back and watch the blood and sparks fly. Even more fun to watch is Bobby –   
Iceman – getting chased around the mansion by half the X-Men. Bobby and Jubilee love practical jokes."  
"Tell me more," begged Tom abruptly when Toby halted, wondering if he'd said too much. "Please? This is   
incredible…"  
"You reckon? Look Tom, this can't go any further than the six of us, okay? Just our group of friends. Swear to me,"   
said Toby fervently. "I'm not telling you this lightly."  
"Okay, man, I promise," said Tom sincerely. "No further than us. Now tell me some more! What's the women like?"  
"Stunning. Psylocke's a babe," grinned Toby. "But don't piss her off. In fact, it's not a good idea to piss anyone   
there off. Jean's Cyke's wife – and usually the reason Logan can't stand Cyke. Rogue's my best friend out of the   
ladies: she's great. Loads of fun, when she's not angsting."  
Toby paused, grinning at Tom's rapt expression. "You sure are into this, aren't you?"  
"Don't stop, you big blond bastard!" growled Tom. "Keep going or I spill this little secret to Gabs."  
Toby shrugged. "She knows. She's known since we were both thirteen."  
"Ah, damn, I'm out of blackmail!"  
  
  
The two boys made their way from the park over to the ice-cream shop at about two. They'd be meeting Gabrielle,   
Toby's girlfriend, there after she got back from an appointment with her optometrist. Gabby was a vivacious, pretty   
girl of fifteen, fairly short and skinny still, but with traces of the beauty she would posses as a woman. Her ambition   
– to be the first black female President of the United States, or an actress. She was also allergic to practically   
everything, and was hopelessly short-sighted. Therefore Toby's near indestructibility and razor keen senses were a   
constant affront to her, and she would often consider them a personal insult.   
"So have you seen Andy or Joe lately?" asked Toby once they had ordered.  
Tom frowned a little. "I hooked up with Andy last week, but I haven't seen Joe for a while. I thought he went to visit   
his folks in California?"  
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," said Toby reflectively. Joe Waldi was the child of now divorced parents. His father   
was raising him in New York, whilst his mother moved back to California to be near his grandparents. It meant that   
Joe, a remarkable sportsman and athlete, never saw his mother for years at a time, and his father was an exacting   
man who expected far more intellectually of his son. "Hope he has a good time."  
"Poor guy," said Tom with feeling, collecting his sundae. "Thanks," he told the girl at the counter. She gave him a   
smile which never reached her eyes.  
  
  
There she is.  
It's been four weeks since I've seen her. I get so gushy over her it makes me sick, but hell, what do I care? I can   
always blame it on my adolescent hormones.   
She strides across the road, squinting balefully at the traffic. She's woefully short sighted, not to mention the fact that   
she's allergic to practically everything. It must drive her insane that I can see and hear so well, and my body   
compensates for everything I do to it. She shouts something at a driver, and her voice carries away on the wind. But   
with Gabby, you don't really need to hear the words to understand the gist behind them.   
Oh, her hair is tangled in her glasses, no wonder she's pissed. I love her hair, which falls to the middle of her back in   
thick, chocolatey waves. Her eyes are the warmest brown you will ever see, and very large. When she's angry, they   
look almost black.  
She used to tell me that she wanted to be a mutant when she grew older. She was a crazy kid. Now she wants to be a   
politician – but the weird thing is, she'd be a politician with a moral backbone. Refreshing, huh? Gabs is passionate   
about supporting the underdog in any dispute, and that has got her in more trouble and made her more friends than   
anyone I've come across. She's set her goals high too – she wants to be the first black female President of our   
prejudice-ridden nation. And she probably has enough attitude to see it through, too. She's incredibly intelligent, has   
a wicked sense of humour, and a complete lack of finesse. Her straight-forward bluntness and directness is one of the   
things I like best about her.   
And she doesn't bother to plaster her face with makeup, or even attempt to move gracefully. She thinks that's a   
stupid waste of time, and pandering to the public image. Besides, she's allergic to most of the products.  
Her and me, we're incredibly similar in some ways, and startlingly different in others, beyond the obvious   
human/mutant, black/white, girl/guy things. She's feisty, I'm fairly easy-going (if only because my emotions have to   
be kept under almost constant check). She's extroverted and mercurial, I'm a classic introvert, a throwback from my   
orphanage days. I deal in action most of the time, she deals in words and numbers.   
But we both hate our fathers, we're both fiercely loyal to our friends, and we can both reduce someone to a quivering   
mess. Usually in different methods, however – Gabby's tongue is five times more fearful than my claws. Another   
reason I'd never want her to turn against me.   
But she hasn't yet – even when she saw me go berserk. She was the one who brought me back from that brink, the   
only one who believed in me during those awful days afterward, when I was locked in a holding cell. Apparently the   
same one that held my father.   
She'd come and bring me something to eat – usually chicken. I wasn't being fed meat then. And she'd stay and talk   
to me, when everyone else was avoiding me like I was contagious. I suppose the déjà vu must have paralyzed them.   
  
  
"Hey," said Gabby as she sat down at the bench of the ice-cream shop, pulling Toby's head down for a kiss. Tom   
rolled his eyes.  
"Hiya Gabs. Plenty of time for that later," he said with a little asperity. She shot him a nasty little glance.  
"And I suppose we can say the same to you when Suz gets back?"  
He blushed. "Er…"  
"Okay, guys, no blood at the table," said Toby mildly, wrapping and arm around Gabby. She settled back with a look   
of smug happiness on her face, then she frowned.  
"You got taller," she accused him.   
"It happens," he shrugged. "Almost everyone my age is coming down with it."  
"I'm not," she said gloomily. "What are people going to say when my boyfriend's almost a foot and a half taller than   
me?"  
"They'll say, don't mess with her because her boyfriend's built like a brick shithouse," suggested Tom, slurping his   
sundae.  
Toby frowned. "Brick shithouse?"  
"Just an expression," said Tom, grinning. "By the way, I reckon Toby has some pretty important news from home."  
She turned to him with a curious expression on her face. "Home?"  
"He knows," said Toby with a sigh. "I had to muzzle him from declaring it all over the park."  
Tom looked sheepish. "So tell me the news," said Gabby impatiently.   
"I've, er, I'm being considered as part of the team," he said innocuously.   
"WHAT?"  
"Shutupshutupshutup!"  
"But you could be killed! You're only fifteen, Toby!" Her eyes changed from black to a honey-warm brown as her   
thoughts raced. "Do you get to wear skin-tight uniforms? Please god, I want to see you in spandex…"  
Tom choked as Toby went red in embarrassment. "Erm…"  
"Skintight spandex?" coughed Tom, laughing hysterically.  
"Oh god," said Toby despairingly.   
"Who put you up to this?" asked Gabby, her eyes still a little dreamy.  
"No-one 'put me up to this,' Hank told me they'd consider me," said Toby, now a little annoyed. "It isn't concrete   
yet."  
"I should hope not," she said, her eyes snapping back to agate black. "You're only fifteen. Don't they know how   
much danger they'll be putting you in?"  
"Intimately," he sighed. "And I'm older than Jubilee was when she joined the team."  
"That's… different," she said with a toss of her hair.  
"Jubilee as in the one who used to go to our school?" asked Tom curiously.  
"Yeah," Toby admitted. "The one no-one dared piss off. But really, Gabs, how is it different? I'm better trained than   
she is, I'm stronger and faster, plus it'll mean two trackers rather than one. And I'll still be going to school, unless   
I'm like, held prisoner somewhere or something."  
"Held prisoner!" she screeched.   
"Shutupshutupshutup!"  
"What is Hank thinking of?" she stormed. "I thought he was a smart guy!"  
Toby's mouth twitched. "Astonishingly so, actually."  
"You can't possibly do this! What did the professor say? You could get hurt!" Suddenly her eyes softened again, and   
her mercurial mood shifted once more. "Oh god, what if you get hurt?"  
"Now you sound like Andy," remarked Tom. "What if this, what if that…"  
"The professor thought it was a good idea," said Toby gently, curling an arm around his diminutive girlfriend. "And   
anyway, there isn't much that can hurt me, remember? Logan and Cable have been training me for the last three   
years. I think you should be more worried about the other guy."  
She gave a wry half-smile. "Who said I'm not?"  
Tom snorted. "Very touching, I'm sure."  
"Shut up, Tom."  
"What did I say?"  
"Shut up, Tom!"  
  
  
Toby shifted nervously from foot to foot. Rogue looked up at him with amusement, before programming the machine   
and sitting down. "Calm down, tiger, it's just a uniform fitting. Y' ain't bein' led to slaughter, y'know."  
"Shows how much you know," he mumbled, before rubbing at his bare arms. "Does it have to be so cold down   
here?"  
She grinned. "Yep. You should see how Cyke avoids it."  
"I can imagine." He started to pace, clad only in his work-out pants, eyeing the Shi'ar equipment uneasily. "So this'll   
make whatever clothes I want?"  
"Uh-huh."  
"Then why do you always drag me out shopping?" he accused, and she shrugged, leaning back in the control chair.  
"Ah like shopping. An' since you didn't know about this thing, you're the only excuse Ah had."  
"Thanks awfully," he snorted, before resuming his pacing. She shook her head, and furrowed her brow as she   
examined the controls, darting surreptitious glances at the teenaged mutant who was muttering under his breath in his   
choral voices. Toby had grown so much – he was almost the height of Bishop now, if not so broad in the chest. His   
arms were clearly defined and well-muscled thanks to Wolverine's and Cable's intensive training, and his abdomen   
rippled as he stalked impatiently. He had that rangy, lanky look that some adolescents get when their growth has   
outstripped their weight. His hair fell in thick yellow tangles above his shoulders, and a downy growth around his   
jaw indicated that he had inherited his father's tendency towards body hair. She grinned again as she noted the   
exasperated look in his iridescent blue eyes, carefully hiding her expression as her gloved fingers flew across the   
alien technology.   
"Okay, tiger," she said finally. "Ah've programmed in your characteristics. What kinda thing are you after here?"  
"It better not be skin-tight," he muttered, before walking over to the screen. A pixelized man stood there, with   
roughly Toby's colouring and about his body proportions. He grunted as he took in Rogue's amused expression.   
"What?"  
"Ah was just wonderin' what Gabby might think of you in skintight spandex," she teased. Toby didn't answer that.  
"I'm not wearing anything skintight," he grumbled, pulling up a chair and turning it backwards to sit beside her.   
"Your advice?"  
She considered, tilting her head as she examined him, putting together combinations in her head. "Ah think it's best   
if we keep away from yellow an' brown," she said slowly.  
His eyes immediately hardened. "Agreed."  
"What d'ya think of black an' orange?" she hedged. "Or red an' black – or even blue?"  
"They're fine and magnificent colours, Rogue, but I'm not the fashion consultant here," he told her with a slight grin.   
"Black an' red Ah think," she decided. "Make yer eyes stand out."  
"Whatever you say."  
"Go an' stand in the machine, kiddo," she said, already turning back to the console. "Ah'll muck around with a few   
combinations here, an' you can tell me which one you like."  
After half an hour, in which Rogue tried to convince him that skintight wasn't really so bad, they finally settled on an   
agreement. Toby had been adamant about the issue, and so the pants weren't that tight. They were tighter than he   
liked, however, but Rogue assured him that they made his long legs look amazing. He could smell that she wasn't   
lying, and so took her word for it. They were a soft black, in some sort of thick material which resembled leather,   
and shone dully in the same way that Storm's catsuit did. A belt with a gold X buckle completed them. He wore a red   
v-neck shirt with a gold X on the left side of his chest, also insulated and tear-resistant. He had a pair of black boots   
with reinforced soles, very heavy and thick, but with enough give in them to be absolutely silent. He looked over   
himself, and decided it could have been much worse.   
Rogue was looking at him with her head on the side. "Ah think y' look great, sugah," she gushed.  
He raised his eyebrow. "But?"  
"Somethin's missin'," she explained. "It's easy enough t' recognise, but you could wear it on th' street as well. Ah   
love the red an' black with y' hair, an' the pants are fantastic, but… Ah ha!" she dived back to the console, her   
fingers flickering expertly. Toby regarded the shirt (which was indeed skintight – he couldn't deny Rogue that) with   
a sigh, and stepped back into the machine.  
"There!" Rogue leaned back from the console and pressed the 'initiate' button, and the Shi'ar equipment buzzed into   
life, surrounding him with that alien glow as it created the fabrics and fittings needed. He closed his eyes and prayed   
for patience.  
"Much better!" he heard her say, and felt brave enough to open an eyelid and peer down at himself. He was wearing   
a thigh-length black jacket with gold piping and a high collar over his shirt, and he physically had to restrain the sigh   
of relief. It was of the same thick material as his pants, and very light, and he examined with satisfaction the pockets   
on the inside, rather than the exterior. Rogue was beaming like a sunrise as he looked up at her. "Well?"  
"I think you're right," he replied, grinning back, before stepping out of the machine and flexing his arms. "Very,   
very nice," he murmured, noting the thickly padded shoulders on the coat.   
Her smile turned a trifle wicked. "You wanna go try it out, sugah?"  
"Now?" Two of his voices cracked, and he winced. Choral voices were hell on adolescent self-esteem – you could   
never seem to control them all.   
She looked pointedly up to where the Danger room was, and then linked her arm in his, her eyes twinkling up at him   
mischievously. "Ah reckon Jubilee an' Wolvie are done with it by now. Whaddaya say, tiger?"  
He cleared his throat, feeling the familiar rush of adrenalin and clamping down hard upon it. "Sure," he said   
innocuously. "Why not?"  
A bombardment of comments greeted his new uniform. "Ah! Sehr gut, mein freund," remarked Kurt.  
"Whoa! Can you design mine, Rogue?" from Bobby.  
Jubilee gaped a little at him, going slightly red and staring at his legs.   
"The coat's a little impractical, don't you think?" said Bishop critically, but stopped when he saw Rogue's face.  
"Gabby's going to have a heart attack," said Jean a little smugly, while Scott simply nodded in approval.  
Cable: "It doesn't have a gun holster."  
"He doesn't need one," returned Rogue sweetly, and Cable grunted.  
"Nice threads, tiger," said Logan, before nudging the gaping Jubilee.  
Storm smiled. "You match my uniform, Toby. Very nice."  
"Well, Ah think we got the mutant seal of approval," said Rogue as she led him into the Danger Room.  
Toby shrugged. "I suppose so. Now, shall we?"  
She flew to the observation room and activated a program. "Let's see how they hold up, hmm?"  
  
  
Later that night, the alarm went off. Toby was used to it, but this was the first time he would be expected to answer   
to it. Pulling on a pair of jeans, he raced to the War room alongside a very sleepy Bobby and following a tousle-  
furred Hank. Scott was waiting for them, a grim expression on his face. He nodded as they arrived.  
"What's the problem, Scotty?" yawned Bobby, rubbing at one eye.  
"It'll wait until everyone's here," replied Scott.   
"Oh," said Hank, catching Cyclops' dark tone. "An event of some consequence, hmm?"  
"Something along those lines."  
Toby sat down on a chair in the corner, idly picking at his claws. He wasn't familiar with the routine, and it made   
him somewhat nervous, the way the three talked about it with such purpose. He contented himself with waiting, and   
acting as he had been taught when the time came. That was something he'd learned from Cable.  
Logan arrived next, followed by Kurt, Jean and a very grumpy Jubilee. Scott was patiently immobile as the team   
slowly filed in. Jubilee sat down next to Toby, and rolled her eyes. "They talk for ages now," the young woman   
confided. "An' then we file into the Blackbird to kick booty."  
He gave her a quick answering grin.  
"Are we all here?" asked Scott bluntly. There was a chorus of assents, but Logan frowned.  
"Future-boy ain't here. That's weird."  
"Jean? Would you contact Bishop?" asked Scott. Phoenix obediently closed her eyes, her brow furrowing in   
concentration.  
"He's coming down the corridor. He was investigating some trespassers on the lower grounds, who turned out to be   
some drunk kids. He'll be here in two minutes."  
"Then I'll get started." Scott leaned over the display, indicating a very familiar building. "The White House is under   
attack from mutant terrorists, namely Mystique. She infiltrated the building by posing as a tourist in a guided tour,   
and remained under the guise of a security guard. About an hour ago, she hotwired the security system, and let the   
other members of the Brotherhood into the building, and she is now holding the President for ransom."  
"Shit," spat Bobby.  
"My feelings precisely," murmured Beast.  
"Bobby, please. Our best advantage is to create a two or three pronged attack, so that the Brotherhood cannot meet   
them all. Also, we'll have to get through the veritable army that's camped outside the White House." Scott sighed a   
little, before continuing. "I'll lead one team, Storm leads the second. Cable, you'll lead the other because you've the   
most guerilla training. Following me will be Archangel, Phoenix, Rogue, and Jubilee. Following Cable will be   
Wolverine, Gambit, Toby and Iceman. Following Storm will be Bishop, Beast, Psylocke, and Nightcrawler. That   
gives us the best balance of powers. My team will enter from the front, Storm's will infiltrate from the passages   
below, and Cable's will split up and meet inside – windows would be a good bet."  
Cable rolled his eyes.  
"Or you can get creative, but don't go homicidal on me, Nate," warned Scott. "Okay, back at the Blackbird in ten,   
people."  
Toby raced back to his room, and pulled on his new uniform. He hadn't expected to use it so soon. He was grateful   
that Rogue had thought to add the jacket, because the night was crisp and cold, and he had stifled his shivers as he sat   
in the War room, unclad except for his old jeans.  
Are you insane? You're not even sixteen yet, he chided himself as he strode towards the Hangar. No, not really. Not   
compared to some of the people I live with. And Jubilee started this idiocy when she was about three years younger   
than me.  
He nodded to Hank, who was re-fuelling the tank, before walking into the Blackbird. Bobby was already there,   
yawning once more, as was Jubilee who was curled stubbornly on her chair. She sat up as she saw him, and gestured   
him over, yanking him down on the seat beside her. "I'm too tired for this," she complained. "Like, way too tired."   
She pulled at her red Gen. X uniform. "And it's too late at night to be wearing a bodysuit."  
"Hmm?" said Betsy.  
"Never mind," said Jubilee with an irritated look. "How are you holding up, kiddo?"  
"I'm getting there," he replied. "I'm just keeping my mouth shut and going with the flow. I'll decide what to do   
when I come to that decision."  
She nodded. "Good idea. Sounds like Zen."  
"It's Cable," he explained.  
"Should have known," she said with a tired grin, before yawning again. "Man, I wish we could make it so that saving   
the world only happens in the daylight hours. I was almost asleep."  
"Watching the late-night movie again?" he asked with a chuckle. She hedged and hummed a bit, before reluctantly   
nodding. "Well, it's your own fault you're so tired then."  
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she said a little sourly.  
He shrugged. "I'm fifteen. You're older than me, you're supposed to know better."  
"Shhyeah right," she snorted. "Not in this lifetime, buster. You know anything about the Brotherhood?"  
He frowned a little. "Some. I've done the introduction programs, and I've read the files. Toad's a pushover," he   
added.  
"That hasn't changed significantly," she smirked. "Anyway, the Brotherhood are a bit different nowadays –   
Mystique's been gathering some totally new guys to add to her collection. The Blob, Avalanche an' Ol' Toady are   
still hangin' around, but there's a few newer faces. There's a chick called Zenith, who's a Teke, an' a guy called   
Downsize. Stupid name, huh? He's basically your invulnerable thicko battering ram type. An' there's another chick   
called Breakneck, who's almost as fast as that Northstar guy in Canada."  
He assimilated this, considering several ways he could neutralize or overcome such powers. "Right. Anyone else?"  
"Just Mysty an' her guns," she said dryly. "I'm hoping she hasn't conscripted Juggernaut or somethin'."  
"Bite your tongue."  
"Can't. I'd look ridiculous."  
  
  
The flight to D.C was uneventful and boring, boring, boring. Toby wondered how the X-Men retained that air of   
action and excitement when half the mission was travelling. The Blackbird touched down on the lawn of the White   
house, and was immediately surrounded by troopers.  
"Oh… great," said Rogue in disgust.   
"Is this a regular occurrence?" asked Toby in bemusement.  
"You'd be amazed," replied Logan dryly. "Storm? You gonna do the honours?"  
"I suspect I had better," said Ororo, glancing at the expressionless Scott Summers. "Cyclops, should I?"  
He nodded slowly. "Go ahead, Storm. Try to get their attention."  
The corner of her mouth quirked, and she lifted a hand, summoning a wind to lift her gently from her feet. It swept   
her from the Blackbird and along the extended ramp, where she hovered a few meters in the air above their heads.   
"Soldiers of Washington!" her voice rang out. "We are the X-Men. We are not here to harm you."  
Their faces registered shock, and some, mistrust. Storm noted it. "Our only quarrel tonight is with those who have   
broken the peace," she said sternly, her bearing regal and absolutely poised. "Do not make it with you. We will not   
hurt you – we simply wish to put things aright. You needn't put your lives in danger – here we are striving for the   
same goal. Will you allow us to fight on your behalf?"  
There was a chorus of muttering, grudging assents. Cyclops shook his head. "I might be the tactician, but she's the   
orator," he muttered a little jealously. Jean gave him an amused look, before taking his hand and leading him towards   
the ramp. The team followed them slowly, and Toby felt very conspicuous under the gazes of the hostile crowd,   
though the others seemed to take it in their stride. Storm nodded to Cable, who turned to his infiltration team and   
indicated that they move towards the back of the famous building. Toby followed Gambit, moving like an animal   
through the impeccably manicured grounds, not making a single sound. Behind him, Logan kept an eye out.   
"So how d'you propose we get in, mon ami?" murmured Gambit to the stalking Cable. Cable glanced back at the   
Cajun, and shrugged.  
"No idea. I think I'm supposed to get creative, but flonq that. Let's shoot down a wall."  
"Creative enough for me," grinned Bobby as his features obscured into crystalline ice. Logan snorted.   
"Yer brains are goin' soft, Summers."  
"Blame it on my age," said Cable in a dangerous tone, and Logan simply chuckled.  
"Not me. I'm probably twice yer age, y'know."  
"Can we shut up?" said Toby a little urgently. "There's someone moving to the left. They don't want to be heard, but   
they're following us."  
Nathan blinked, before one eye spat golden fire, and he nodded. "It's Breakneck. Logan, you stay here and deal with   
her. We'll go through the roof, I think. Catch up to us later. Drake, if you please?"  
Bobby raised an arctic eyebrow, before nodding. "Fine, okay. Sheesh." His glacial brow furrowed slightly as he drew   
the moisture under them, lifting them into the sky onto an ice-pillar, which banked out into a slide onto the roof.   
Toby landed with a roll, and stood carefully on the flat, white surface. Christ. I'm standing on the roof of the White   
House, he thought with some incredulity, before shaking it off. He didn't want to seem too much of a rookie, despite   
the uncertainty he could smell from his own scent. Cable was stalking on the roof, kneeling down in places and   
touching them, nodding or shaking his head. Gambit was unconcerned, leaning back and lighting a cigarette with   
one elegant finger. Bobby gave the young mutant a sympathetic look.  
"You okay, kiddo?" he murmured.  
Toby threw him a grateful glance. "I'll be cool."  
Bobby grinned a little at the choice of words. "It all gets a bit the same after a while, y'know? So we tend to forget   
exactly how bizarre some of the stuff we do is. Just remember what you've been taught, an' make sure your back's   
covered. An' remember to cover someone else's!"  
Toby's mouth quirked, revealing a fang, and he nodded. Cable stood sharply as Logan crested the wall, using his   
claws as pitons.   
"You take care of Breakneck?" Remy asked in a low tone.  
"She took care of herself," replied Logan. "She was fast, but she couldn't see where she was goin'." His claws   
withdrew with a significant snikt! Bobby shuddered.  
"She dead?" he murmured. Logan scowled.  
"Yeah, the bitch. Called me some very insulting things, an' ripped my jacket as well."  
"Shameful," murmured Toby. Cable looked as if he were stifling a laugh at that.  
"Okay," he said. "There's a room below this, and someone is walking around in there. Since we know that the only   
people inside the building are the President, the First Lady, and the Brotherhood, chances are it's the Brotherhood.   
Drake, freeze it if you please. I'm going to smash it with my teke. I advise we stand back."  
Logan walked back to the edge of the roof, and Toby followed him. Bobby's face became almost luminous as he   
employed his gift, and a stretch of ceiling abruptly buckled with a shkrek! Nathan nodded to him, before his eye   
glowed fiercely, and the whole thing gave way. Bobby crowed at the resounding crash below, and the yelp of   
surprise.  
"I love the sound of property destruction in the springtime," said Cable, deadpan. "After you, ladies."  
"Ladies?" Logan lit a cigar, and shook his head. "You get weird when you're in a good mood, Summers."  
"I know. It's one of the things which makes me so lovable." To his credit, Nathan's face didn't show a hint of a   
smile. Logan grunted, before dropping down into the hole made. Bobby followed him, and Cable shared a glance   
with Toby.  
"I remember," said Toby carefully. "Don't worry, Nathan. I'm not going to let you down."  
Apparently satisfied, the big time-traveler jumped through the hole, followed by Toby. He landed lithely, and shifted   
against the wall. There was no sign of the person who had been inside the room, but Toby could smell something a   
little greasy. He tapped his nose to Logan, who was crouched behind a bench, and his brow furrowed as he sorted out   
the scent. Then he glowered, his eyes furious. Then Cable's voice entered their minds.  
  
Toby considered, following the trail of the scent to the doorframe, where is was very, very strong. His eyes widened,   
and Bobby looked at him curiously as he backed away slightly. "Nathan," said Toby quietly. "He's above the door,   
on the other side of the wall."  
Cable swore in Askani and he ducked as a pair of slightly webbed feet flew over him. Mortimer Toynbee landed with   
a rebound towards the waiting Iceman, who threw up a shield and sent a shower of little razor sharp ice-darts at him.   
Toad hissed as a few struck home, but recovered in short order and brought the attack to Logan, who slashed with   
economy for the darting, hard-to-hit target. But Toad was too nimble, and swung around before Cable's telekinetic   
barrage could encapsulate him. Gambit's aim was impeccable as he threw three cards towards him, but he moved too   
fast and was gone by the time they impacted. Wolverine was caught in Cable's snare, and Bobby was futilely trying   
to encase the gleeful Toad in a block of ice. Toby gritted his teeth, before jumping into the fray.  
He caught the greenish-skinned villain across the back with his claws before Toad had even registered his presence,   
and kicked him to the floor. Toad leapt up immediately, and clung to a wall, before launching himself straight at   
Toby, who felt the berserker rage strain at its leash, buried deep inside. His mouth opened in a soundless snarl in his   
efforts to stay under control – obviously not deep enough, he thought ruefully. Toad used his tongue as leverage to   
deliver a roundhouse kick to Toby's jaw, who spun to bury his claws in Toynbee's thigh. Toad squealed, his   
amphibian eyes opening wide, and for the first time he caught a glimpse of this new X-Man.  
"Holy fuck!" he gasped. "Sabretooth!"  
Toby was taken aback. His claws were still lodged in Toad's thigh, but the killing rage had abruptly flickered and   
settled into white-hot, absolutely calm fury at Toad's startled exclamation. He took a deep breath before answering.   
"Not quite. The next generation, you could say."   
He was vaguely proud that his voices didn't waver in any way.  
Toad's eyes goggled even further, and he started making fish-like gasping noises. "You're… you… you're Vic's…   
You're Creed's son?!"  
Toby nodded slowly.  
Toad swallowed, still in shock. "Um… then could you just cripple me a bit, or knock me out, and tell Raven that I   
fought you?"  
That was unexpected. Toby gave a cold bark of laughter. "Sure. Why not." And with a twist of his wrist, he severed a   
tendon inside Toad's thigh, and the other mutant screamed in pain. Toby's fury was a searing cold knot in his gut,   
and he flicked the blood from his claws before walking out of the upper room without looking back.  
  
  
Warren ghosted through the empty corridors, looking with distaste and sadness at the ruined national treasures that   
lined the floor. "Point clear," he muttered into his wrist unit, alighting silently on a banister, his wings furling around   
him like some ethereal, angelic gargoyle.   
A moment later Cyclops and Rogue slipped into the hallway. Scott nodded at Warren, before ducking into a shadow   
against the wall. A thin line of scarlet betrayed him.  
Rogue flew along to where Warren perched, her face worried. "Jean and Jubilee are behind us," she murmured,   
before a crash resounded from a floor somewhere above them.   
"Holy Methuselah!" exclaimed Warren.  
Jean's voice echoed down the corridor. "Nathan," she sighed. Scott shook his head, before indicating to Warren that   
he should take point. Warren nodded, and his wings unfurled to their greatest extent, before beating down hard and   
raising dust from the floor. He soared with effortless majesty towards a very familiar room, avian eyes noting   
shadows within. He thought he recognized one, and quickly ducked into the enveloping darkness, hoping that the   
iridescence of his wings would be hidden. "Scott," he breathed into his wrist unit. "I'm outside the Oval Office. I   
think Mystique's in there."  
came Jean's telepathic reply.   
There's someone else in there with her, he thought back as hard as he could. I don't know who. I'll let you know if I   
find out.  
  
Warren wished again that he had the enhanced hearing of Logan or Toby. He could only hear a vague murmur as   
whoever Mystique talked to answered – it did not seem to be a voice he recognized. It was, however, female.   
Jean, he sent back. It's a woman, that's all I can find out. Let me know when that attack's coming.  
There was a pause.  
Whenever you're ready? He asked a little desperately.  
  
He tensed himself, his wings curving up in anticipation.   
  
He beat downwards and lifted a little off the ground, his pinions making virtually no sound as the soft feathers raked   
through the air.  
  
Another beat and a turn on a pin-feather brought him just above the door. He gripped his gun hard in one hand, so   
hard that the knuckles turned white. It looked especially alarming against his blue skin.  
  
He dropped down like a stone to see Mystique and a familiar woman turning to gape at him, before the wall behind   
the two exploded in red light and Scott stepped through the ruins. Warren trained his gun on Mystique, who arched   
her back defiantly, bringing her own gun up and baring her teeth. A riot of colour made her blink and drop her gun,   
and Jubilee blew the plasma from the tips of her fingers expertly, grinning as she did so. The other woman, they   
could see now, was tied to her chair, and her well-known face was bloody.   
"Are you, like, all right, Mrs First Lady, ma'am?" asked Jubilee, her eyes still on Raven Darkholme.  
The woman nodded wearily, and mumbled something affirmative. Mystique hissed at her, before her hand flew to a   
holster hidden against her inner thigh, drawing a small four-shot pistol.   
"She won't be all right for long. Destiny has seen to that!" she spat, before whirling and shooting all four bullets into   
Warren. The world went hazy black, and the last thing he remembered before the pain put him under was the sight of   
Mystique leaping over his collapsing body, followed by a furious Rogue. Then the grey turned sooty, and he lapsed   
into unconsciousness.  
  
  
"Oh flonq."  
"What?"   
"Warren's down. Mystique shot him down to get away from Scott's team." Cable grimaced and hefted his gun,   
looking sidelong at his young charge. Toby had taken point without any prompting, still utterly enraged about being   
mistaken for his father. Cable wasn't far behind, ready to stop the young man from going ballistic. He seemed to be   
calming, but with Toby, you never knew. The angrier he was, the less he showed it. Berserk was just berserk – but   
angry? Not even Bobby could become as cold.   
"He'll be okay?" asked Gambit from behind. The Cajun was swathed in his trademark trenchcoat, his exotic eyes   
darting expertly as only a professional thief's do.   
"Should be. Jean said nothing important was ruptured, but he won't be flying again for a while. Or walking."  
Bobby winced. "Yeowch. Poor Warren."  
Both Remy and Logan didn't look too sympathetic.  
Abruptly Toby raised a hand in warning. "Shhh."  
They froze. Toby could hear running footsteps coming towards them. Nate – female, running towards us, in a panic.   
I can smell her. What do we do?  
Nathan's eyes half-closed, the one spitting golden   
fire. Cable pressed himself into a darkened alcove, watching Toby's eyes carefully as he filled the other three in on   
their situation. Toby was radiating a cold, acid anger – which worried Nathan more than a little. Toby had trained   
extensively in order to keep control of his emotions – why now should they gain control of him?  
Then he realized. The coldness was the control. Toby was keeping the anger manageable, but only just. His   
subconscious was ready to inflame, the dull, freezing rage ripe to ignite except for that strained, subconscious   
control. Cable shuddered a little, for the first time appreciating what Logan and Toby and those like them had to live   
through.   
he sent,   
A generous move, really. Toby had license to take out his anger on Raven Darkholme, while the rest of the team   
continued with the objective. Toby was fairly well matched with the shape-shifter, his inexperience offsetting her   
diminished height, her knowledge balancing his healing and training. He reached out to Logan, Gambit and Bobby,   
  
Bobby scowled. Remy shot a pointed glance in Toby's direction, but Logan had nodded and was already silently   
moving down the left-hand corridor. Nathan jerked his head meaningfully after Wolverine's retreating back, before   
nodding to Toby and sinking into the shadows. Bobby gave Toby a helpless look, before absorbing his ice-sheath   
and walking barefoot after him. Toby looked around for Gambit, but he could only see the red eyes retreating in the   
darkness. Abruptly one closed off as the Cajun winked, and then they were gone.  
Toby crouched back down in the alcove, alone with his racing emotions. More than anything, he wanted to smash   
someone or something until he didn't hurt so much inside. But he knew that was not what he stood for – that was   
what his father stood for. That was the way his father had learned to deal, and it never did anyone any good.   
Damn, damn, damn…  
Mystique's running footsteps were louder against the carpeted hallways, moving erratically towards him. Abruptly   
he could smell the slightly acidic oil she used to clean her gun, and cursed under his breath. He hated getting shot –   
not that it had happened much. He'd been hit once or twice in Danger Room simulations, and of course the pain   
disappeared as soon as the program ended. It had been enough to really piss him off – not a smart move when you're   
an adolescent mutant with the snapping point of a wounded bear. He could hear her ragged breathing now, and the   
slight curses she spat when she bumped into a table or a picture frame. He tensed himself slowly, telling himself over   
and over to keep calm, just go through the motions, you can do it, you can, this should be a cakewalk, c'mon bitch,   
it's fucking cold – steadfastly erasing Toad's reaction from his immediate recollection.   
Finally, a slender, medium-height woman with smooth, glossy midnight-blue skin and fiery red hair stepped out into   
the hallway, panting slightly. Her bright yellow eyes were weary, yet still wary, and peered cautiously into every   
nook and cranny. She sighed, satisfied that no-one was around, and leaned back against the wall, her chest heaving.   
Toby tried not to stare. He could see why his father had been so attracted to Raven Darkholme – her exotic, strange   
beauty was absolutely captivating. She moved with a grace that surpassed even Logan's animal elegance; perhaps a   
side-effect of her shape-shifting abilities. Her long-fingered hand gripped a small pistol tightly, and she was dressed   
in a kind of white bodysuit – fatigues. They hugged her curves deliciously, and Toby resolved at that point not to tell   
Gabby about this part of the mission.  
Mystique, evidently having got her breath back, was moving towards him now. She passed his little alcove without a   
second glance, moving on to the end of the corridor. More silent than a breath, Toby moved out behind her, keeping   
at least three meters away and against the shadows. He was painfully aware that his colouring did not allow for much   
in the darkness, and irrationally wished for Kurt's amazing abilities. Hopefully, the matt-black of his clothes would   
help conceal him.   
She let out an explosive breath, before pushing up to a door and bringing out a key. Toby felt his ears prick up.   
Mystique fitted the key to the lock, and opened the unobtrusive door – entirely unremarkable. It looked almost like a   
cupboard, but when it was opened, Toby caught a glimpse of an internationally-renowned face, and swallowed his   
surprise. So this was where they were keeping the president!  
She kneeled down before the bound man, who was lying heavily against one shoulder in the cramped confines.   
"Well, Mr. President," she murmured. "It seems your rescuers have come more promptly than we could have   
imagined. We're going to have to move you out of here." She lifted one slim wrist and activated a communication   
unit of strange design. "Breakneck," she muttered. "Come in. We're going to have to get the hostage out of here."  
There was only static on the other end. Mystique frowned.  
"Breakneck! Come in!" she hissed.   
"She's dead," said Toby abruptly. "Wolverine cancelled her."  
Mystique stiffened, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Who are you?" she barked into the stifling silence.  
Toby chuckled, aware that the choral effect of his voices laughing over and over would unsettle her. "You'd be   
amazed."  
"Well? Go on, amaze me," she said threateningly, her hand going to her pistol.  
"You won't be needing that," said Toby conversationally. "It won't be doing any good."  
Her eyes widened. "Someone with a healing factor then."  
"Naturally."  
"That's a fairly small selection, you know, shadow-skulker. You're either Wolverine, Creed, Wildchild, Deadpool,   
or one of those freaks. You shouldn't have given it away so easily… Wilson."  
"Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Care to try again?" Toby found that baiting the woman was   
bizarrely therapeutic. It relieved his tension, and made him concentrate on something other than his anger.   
Her yellow eyes blazed. "Sabretooth. What are you doing here?"  
"Close, but no cigar."  
She stood slowly, peering over to where Toby crouched in the shadows, his coat pulled close around him. The   
iridescent blue of his eyes glinted in the meagre light, and she recoiled, before tilting her head. "Logan. Obviously. I   
can see your eyes."  
"Not Logan either. I'll give you a hint – there's no-one in the world as close to Creed as me, despite the fact that I've   
never met him."  
She moved slowly towards him. "I give up. Care to share?"  
He laughed again. "Why not?" Slowly, he stood, and moved into the weakening beam shed from the bulb above. His   
feet first, before his legs, then hands came into view – she balked at the sight of his claws. Then his chest and   
shoulders, and finally his face was illuminated into stark lines by that frail yellow light. Her eyes were threatening to   
invade previously unoccupied regions of her face.  
"Fucking hell…" she breathed.  
Toby grinned, his eight overlocking fangs glinting harshly. "Couldn't have put it better myself, and I've often tried. I   
believe you knew my father?"  
Dumbly, she nodded, her gaze travelling paralyzed over his thick blond hair and distinctive jaw.   
"Rest assured that I hate him even more than you do," he said mockingly, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Shall   
we chat before we fight?"  
She fell back against the wall. The President's eyes were boggling, and he looked like he was about to scream, if not   
for the gag in his mouth and the electrical tape holding it there. Toby cocked his head at the shocked woman, before   
dropping to his haunches in front of her. "We might as well, you know," he said offhandedly. "Talk, that is. You   
realise that shooting me isn't going to do any good, so it'll give you some time to think of something. Besides, you   
make me curious."  
"Wh… what did you want to know?" she faltered.  
He shrugged. "Just general stuff, I suppose. This is my first mission, for all the training Cable and Logan have given   
me. Nathan thinks that letting me take you out will stop me from going berserk – which I do, on occasion. Oh, that's   
right. Toad wanted me to tell you he fought me."  
"Mort did what?" she exclaimed.  
"I crippled him a bit. Just a bit, mind," he protested. "I suppose when you think about it like that, you shooting   
Warren was simply payback. I'm still not impressed, though."  
She gaped a little, before drawing herself up, her eyes curious. "So you've never met Sabretooth?"  
He shook his shaggy head. "I'm only fifteen. Well, sixteen soon." He laughed a little at the shock in her eyes. "Yeah,   
I know. I look twenty-five. The X-Men took me in when I was thirteen. I was living in an orphanage, and I was   
fucking terrified of myself and everyone around me. My voices had just started to go spastic, but my claws had been   
growing for years and years. My ears and teeth have always been like this, though." He tugged at one pointed ear   
ruefully. "I used to bite my claws off, and once I tried to saw the points off my ears. Grew back, though. Damn   
healing factor."  
"Why did you do that?" she asked curiously. Amazingly, she liked this young man's company, despite the fact that   
once he became bored with conversation, he'd defeat her easily. Another reason to prolong this 'chat,' she supposed.  
He gave a sad smile, older by far than his years. "I was almost killed there," he explained. "It's one of the reasons I   
hate my father so much. The kids in that orphanage would beat me up on an hourly basis, carve me to pieces and   
leave me to heal. My healing factor wasn't completely developed back then, so it took weeks. Once they broke my   
spine, and I was paralyzed for two months. I ran away, and made it to the X-Men. When they found me, I was so   
small and skinny, and covered in scars. I had 'die mutie' carved into my shoulder-blades. They took me in, and   
everything was roses for a couple of hours." Then his face became hard. "And then Hank found out who my father   
was."  
She couldn't speak again. Her eyes, despite seeing, suffering and causing so much agony, were irrationally filling   
with tears at the prosaic way he told his tale. "What did you do?" she asked in a whisper.  
"Nothing. What could I do? All my life I'd been hurt for being a mutant: and then it seemed I was to be hated for   
someone I didn't know, and wanted nothing to do with. It really didn't help the first time I went berserk, either.   
School was a nightmare, and home wasn't much better. Things have started to get a little better – I have a few   
friends, and a girlfriend who is the greatest thing that ever happened to me, but mostly, it's all the same. The Team   
barely trusts me, especially since I started growing." He gestured deprecatingly to his overlarge size. Her eyes   
involuntarily followed those lethal claws. "I just hang in there, and try not to go nuts. The Danger Room is really   
useful in that regard."  
"I'll bet," she said weakly.  
"How about you?" Those iridescent blue eyes pinned her to the wall as surely as those claws would have done.   
"What made you become a terrorist?"  
She smiled a little grimly. "Long story. Mainly, it's because of the diaries of Destiny, a blind precog who was my   
best friend before she died. The entire history of mutantkind is inside those pages. Of course, I didn't like it much, so   
I tried to change it. Harder than it looks written down on paper." She shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the   
memories. "Despite all I have done, I have only wanted to help my race. I've only done what I think necessary."  
He tilted his shaggy blond head. "I can certainly understand that."  
Her eyes slid away from his. "You know, you act a lot older than fifteen," she accused.  
"I know. Refreshing, isn't it?"   
"I suppose you want to know about Creed, and your brother."  
He shrugged again. "I know the story. It's been held against me for almost three years now, after all."  
"He was different when I knew him," she said softly. "Not like the animal he is now. More like you, trying to keep it   
under control, and pissed off when he couldn't. He loved me, I know he did. Then he went insane, and it only got   
worse after Wolverine pierced his brains. Now he's uncontrollable."  
"I know he loved you."  
Her head jerked up. "How do you know that?"  
He gave her a gentle smile, the fangs at odds with that kindness. "I can see why. You're strong, and brave, and   
beautiful. You do what you think needs to be done, despite the danger and the risks and the overwhelming   
opposition. I know you killed your own son, because it needed to be done. It must have torn you apart."  
"Can we not talk about that?" she asked slowly, her teeth biting into her lip.  
"Well then, you left Kurt behind, and made sure he'd have a better life then. That better? He once told me that he   
doesn't blame you anymore. He knew you did what was best for you both, and you gave him a family who could   
have cared for him more than you could."  
"I doubt that," she said bitterly. "I'd do anything for the chance to apologize to him."  
Toby was silent for a moment. "I think I could arrange it."  
She dashed her eyes dry, before drawing herself up. "I believe I doubt that even more," she said in a ringing tone.   
"Now, shall we fight?"  
He stood slowly again, towering almost a foot above her. His eyes were full of regret. "I'll make sure that you can   
apologize to him," he said slowly, before leaning back in an almost perfect fighting stance.  
"So kind," she murmured, before whirling to the attack.  
  
  
Storm, Bishop, Beast, Psylocke and Nightcrawler were not impressed.  
They had barely entered the building, when a thunderous blast alerted them to danger. They couldn't have known   
that the noise was actually Cyclops' optic blast smashing through the wall of the Oval Office – to them, it seemed   
portentous. Beast was without his usual glib quips as they moved swiftly through the lower levels, only to be   
engaged in pitched battle with Zenith, Avalanche and the Blob. Distant shouts told them that Downsize was fighting   
with someone else to the west. Zenith went down under a bolt of lightning, Avalanche was easily routed between the   
acrobatics of Nightcrawler and Hank, but the Blob, as usual, proved just a tad more difficult. Finally, Psylocke was   
able to get close enough to use her psychic katana, when Bishop opened up some space with a powerful energy blast.   
Panting a little, they looked around at the carnage, before a scream from above sent them all racing again.  
  
  
The fight was foreclosed before it began. Mystique was a superb martial artist, but Toby had size, strength, speed and   
his voice on his side. Once her gun had been emptied into him, it was down to a contest between their respective   
powers. Every time she attempted to morph, he neatly suppressed her power with a chord. Eventually, she tired   
enough to allow him to run his claws through her side, easily puncturing her lung. She screamed in agony, and   
slumped over against the floor, blood running through her fingers. Toby crouched down beside her, his eyes still full   
of luminous regret.  
"I wish you hadn't forced me to do that," he murmured.  
"Save it!" she gasped, her face blanching. "You knew… I'd have to. Whatever… needs to be done…"  
"I know. I understand." He sighed. "I still wish I hadn't done it though."  
At that point, Beast and Nightcrawler rushed in, abruptly stopping when they took in the blood-soaked scene. Kurt's   
yellow eyes immediately hardened, looking so much like Mystique's that Toby smiled wryly.  
"Hey, Kurt," he said softly.  
At that, Mystique gave a low cry and turned her face away from her estranged son. She glared up at Toby. "No," he   
hissed in a pain-filled tone. "You know I can't!"  
"There you're wrong. I know you can. And I did promise. I'm not like my father, whatever you might say." He   
raised his head and looked into Kurt's face. The demonic features were twisted in anger and bitterness, but also with   
a bittersweet longing. "Kurt. Get yourself over here."  
"Nein," he shook his head. "I cannot, mein freund. You don't understand."  
"I understand better than you think," flared Toby. "Now get over here!"  
Kurt looked reluctantly at Beast, who shook his head and shrugged, watching Toby carefully. "I am not completely   
conversant or assured that…" he began.  
"Will I have to force you over here?" Toby snapped. "I can, you know. And you'll thank me after."  
Mystique still hadn't met her son's eyes.   
Kurt took a deep breath and stalked over to his mother, his face accusing as he glared at Toby.   
"Mystique?" prompted Toby.  
She moaned and hid her face in her elegant, blood-covered hands. "No. I can't. I can't do it!"  
Toby gently pulled her hands away, and she dumbly met his eyes. "Just look at him," he suggested. "That's all   
you've ever wanted, right?"  
Mystique stared at the young X-Man for a while, her face a rictus of indecision. Then her eyes slid slowly to where   
Kurt was, sitting beside her, his face on her hers.  
"Guten tag, mutter," he said.  
Mystique let out a sob, and her hand went to Kurt's face. "My boy," she said softly. "I am so very, very sorry…"   
then pain obscured the words, and her hand stiffened. Kurt grasped her hand, which trembled in his grip, his eyes   
wondering. Then he turned on Toby.   
"Fix her!" he demanded. "Heal her with your voice! If you do not do this, then I swear I shall…"  
"Calm down," soothed Hank, putting an oversized hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Toby will heal her. Won't you?" and   
shrewd blue eyes regarded Toby narrowly.  
"Of course I will," said Toby, taken aback. "I thought you both knew me better than that."  
Kurt didn't answer, his eyes still on his mother.  
A little hurt that his friends would accuse him so, Toby raised his voices and plunged into the nervous and   
respiratory systems of the woman in front of him. Her lung was filling with blood, and he had severed many nerve   
and muscle junctures. All was not too hard to heal, especially with the added impetus of her malleable structure. He   
closed his eyes, laid a palm along the wound against her ribs, and coaxed the flesh to work. Toby's voices could   
manipulate any power – including gravity, sight, actuality and the healing system of anyone or anything. He could   
feel her body responding to his gentle suggestion, and the pain she was feeling jarred through the bones in his wrist   
to echo in his arm and shoulder. He ignored it, continuing his ministrations. Abruptly, she rolled over on her side and   
began to cough violently, bringing up blood. Toby slumped back.  
"Let her cough," he said weakly. "She's got to get the blood out of her lungs."  
Hank nodded professionally. Kurt didn't take his eyes from his mother.  
Finally she had stopped racking and heaving, and became quite still and weary. Her eyes flickered around till they   
rested on Kurt. "…so sorry…" she murmured.  
"Mutter," he said softly. "I forgive you."  
Her lips slightly curved up in a smile. "Liar."  
"I forgive you," he said again, holding tightly onto her hand. "I really do."  
She held his gaze for a few seconds, before her eyes welled up again. "I never meant to leave you…" she said softly.  
"I know."  
"They were going to kill you!"  
"You did what was best, meine mutter."  
"I never forgot – I always came back to see you. You were so happy with Magda – how could I take you from her?"  
Kurt's eyes were also threatening to overflow. Hank was sniffling openly. "Do not worry about it any more," Kurt   
whispered brokenly. "A new beginning, ja?"  
She smiled again, before her eyes shuddered closed. Kurt continued to hold her hand as she fell into a deep, healing   
sleep. Toby nodded at Hank, and they started to move away.  
"Toby?"  
"Yes, Kurt?"  
"I am sorry. Thank you."  
"Not a problem."   
"And Happy Sixteenth Birthday, ja?"  
Toby blinked. He'd forgotten about that. He couldn't help grinning at Hank as they went to go untie the most   
powerful man in the world.   
  
  
He received a couple of lectures by the time they returned to the mansion. Scott was denunciating, ringing and angry.   
Ororo was understanding and suggestive. Toby took it all in good grace, but couldn't help grinning every time he   
met Kurt's or Hank's eyes. Mystique had not been found. 'Persons unknown' had spirited her away from the scene,   
and Toby steadfastly denied that he had come across her when waiting to ambush her. Cable was openly suspicious,   
especially when he noted Hank's buoyant mood, and Kurt's utter peace and elation. Toby just shrugged and said,   
"Well, she never came my way. I checked around for her, pretty much everywhere. I couldn't find her."  
Nor could anyone else.  
As a matter of fact, Toby had bolstered Mystique's strength, and she had shape-shifted into the unassuming form of   
an officer, before Kurt teleported her out of the gates to where the crowd of soldiers waited. He'd disappeared before   
anyone could see him, leaving Mystique behind. She left with them, and slipped away early the next morning.   
Warren was very sour, but brightened considerably once Toby had healed his wings. He couldn't do too much for the   
dislocated knees, though – those would have to be treated by Hank. Remy and Logan seemed to be able to take   
Archangel's indisposition philosophically – however, Betsy almost screeched the mansion down again. So Warren   
was forced to fly everywhere, rather than walk. His wings grew exceedingly tired over the next few weeks, before   
his knees were deemed ready for the 'Toby-treatment." Still, they got a good workout, Bobby said irreverently.   
The only person Toby told the entire story to was Gabby, naturally. His friends clustered around him on the first day   
of school, eager to hear how his very first mission had been.   
"It really wasn't that big a deal," he said, embarrassed. "We all split up, then we entered the White House, kicked   
bad-guy booty, and rescued the President."  
"Yeah, but you got an official thank-you from the American government!" said Andy, his eyes wide. Joe and Tom   
were punching imaginary enemies, each pair of dreamy eyes imagining the admiration of the nation.  
"Not by name, I hope," said Gabby sharply. Toby decided to omit the fact that the President most definitely knew his   
name. He'd been an unwilling witness to the entire conversation with Mystique.  
"No, of course not," said Toby, waving the matter aside. In fact, the document on his wall read, "The gratitude and   
thanks of the American Government, and the American People, to Tobias Creed…" He hoped no-one had noticed his   
fairly flimsy evasion.  
The bell rang. Toby picked up his bag, kissed the top of Gabby's head, and jerked his head towards the English   
department. It was time for his usual talk with Wallace, but he didn't intend to go today. He'd rung Mr. Wallace last   
night, and explained the situation. Not so surprisingly, the observant little man already knew.   
Gabby grinned up at him. "Make sure Wallace gets the news," she said, a little belatedly it turned out. Then she   
pursed her lips. "Is it my imagination, or is that uniform a little too small?"  
Toby sighed while Tom started to choke with laughter.  
  
  
Toby made his way towards the English department, but turned away at the last moment to end up outside the   
Headmaster's office. Miss Tweed, Principal Harding's stingy, vindictive secretary, peered down her overlong nose at   
him, her lips pursed. He grinned back. "Hello Miss Tweed."  
She sniffed. She wasn't a mutiphobe or anything: Miss Agnes Tweed disapproved of everything and everyone, and   
school students in particular. Her version of a perfect school would be entirely empty. "You have an appointment?"  
"Yes, Miss Tweed."  
"Name?"  
"Toby Creed."  
"Ah yes, Master Creed. Eight-thirty, I see. You're late," she peered over her glasses, somehow looking down on him,   
despite the fact that he was a little over six feet, and she only five eight. "He's not busy."  
"Thanks, Miss Tweed."  
Miss Tweed, as usual, scowled at Toby's warm reception by the Headmaster. Richard Harding was an old university   
friend of Charles Xavier, and a confidante and outlet for Charles to rely upon. He was very kind to Toby and Jubilee,   
both of whom went to his school. He smiled his boyish smile as Toby walked into the office. "Ah! Toby!"  
"Hi, Mr. Harding," grinned Toby. "How's things?"  
"Busy, as per usual. I suspect you have something of importance to tell me, since you're not pestering my English   
staff."  
Toby's friendship with Mr. Wallace was almost as legendary as his emnity with the math teacher, Mr. Thompson.   
"Yes sir. I have a letter from Professor Xavier, but I'd prefer to tell you myself."  
Harding's distinguished eyebrows rose. "Oh?"  
Toby scratched at the back of his neck. "Well… I've joined the X-Men part time, sir," he hedged.   
It seemed to be enough. Harding's face blanched, and then he beamed at the young man, shaking his hand   
enthusiastically. "Congratulations, Toby! That's quite a feat!"  
"I didn't think they'd want me, because… well, y'know." Toby squirmed a little. Harding did indeed know.   
Sabretooth. "Anyway, they've decided to let me in. The Professor gave me the letter to give to you."  
Harding accepted the letter, still beaming. "And who else knows outside of the team?"  
"A couple of super-villains," said Toby, delighted at the effect this had on his headmaster, "my friends, and Mr.   
Wallace."  
Harding tapped a pen thoughtfully against his lower lip. "Well, you can't really go wrong there. I trust your friends   
will be discreet?"  
Toby nodded.  
"Which students are they?"  
"Umm, Joe Waldi, Andy Zhang, Thomas Sheppard, Suzie Butler, and Gabrielle Marshall." He tried not to blush on   
the last name – as it was, the tips of his pointed ears went pink.   
Harding wrote the names down and slipped them in a pocket. "Good. Now I know around whom I can let a careless   
word slip," he grinned. "And I'd like to also congratulate you on your remarkable rescue of our nation's leader."  
Toby looked surprised. Harding beamed even harder at his astonishment. "Not much misses me, my friend," he said,   
laughing. "Now get yourself off to Henry Wallace before the poor man explodes of pompous indignation."  
Grinning sheepishly, Toby scurried out the door.  
  
  
In the weeks that followed, Toby Creed was often seen to meet with a fairly unremarkable woman, who would give   
him a letter. Then next time, he would give one back. The woman's eyes behind her glasses, had anyone cared to   
look, were bright yellow, and full of grateful tears. 


End file.
